When I in shades of blue repose
On trodden leaves of wildrose
With heavens speared by purple light
Above me writing twisted night
And all the world has filled with fright
As a foul and ill wind blows:
When I in robes of ash fast flee
Yet all the imps of Hell chase me
With chatters like a cockroach horde
And groans like stone scraped on board
And grass below cuts as a sword
Perchance I glance a glowing tree:
With limbs adorned in gorious glow
Defying evil shades below
With crown spun gold as if by gods
With light a-lancing crimson rods
Still, though all else be at odds
A tree by Elohim's hand sown:
How could I - in such a plight
Not love that tree so swathed in light?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What vivid and wonderful imagry - most excellent!